


Almost there

by ChocoNut



Series: Wooing his wench [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Diverges in 4x1, F/M, Fluff, Sexual Tension, Wooing, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:09:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25315099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut
Summary: Jaime wants to get to know his wench better, to find out more about her fantasies, her idea of a first kiss.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Wooing his wench [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1825348
Comments: 14
Kudos: 76





	Almost there

“Your grip is all wrong.”

Her need to correct him kicking in, Brienne brought her left hand over his, and applying a gentle pressure, she pressed his fingers down to the hilt. 

When Jaime had requested she join him and Bronn during training, this was not what he had anticipated. But he wouldn’t complain, definitely.

Her right hand rested on his arm and her cheek was dangerously close to his, every breath she exhaled on his neck, bringing something alive at the base of his spine and _elsewhere_ further down south. While her intent behind whatever she was doing to him was innocent, it did far more than just point him to his mistake. Instead of alerting him to his swordplay reflexes, senses, he’d rather keep to the private confines of their bedchambers, had risen to their peak, drawing all his blood and his attention to them. 

“Ser Jaime,” she went on, oblivious of the effect she had on him, “this is how--”

“I know how to hold a sword, Brienne.” Amused at the way she tried to tutor him and wishing he had chosen her to train with instead of the gold-starved sellsword, Jaime leaned back -- only slightly, so his back gently brushed her chest so he could move closer, feel the soft swell of her bosom, get a whiff of her scent and a breeze of her arm against his. “Unless you want to take advantage of our solitude and trap me in an intimate embrace--”

She sprang away at his mischievous suggestion, depriving him of the chance to find an excuse to spar with her. “I was just trying to help--” Refusing to meet his eye, she went over to the ledge and sat down. “But it might be better if we waited for Bronn to do his job.”

“Come now, wench,” he goaded her, handing her the spare sword, his blood rushing in anticipation. “You and I. One round. Let’s see who gets the better of whom this time.”

His nerves tingled with sensation when the vision of their first and only duel returned to his mind. So refreshingly different, she had been, from the others he’d crossed blades with and so fucking… _arousing_. Instead of wanting to cut her down he’d found himself wishing he could overpower her, fling her down, tear off her clothes…

If only he had been strong enough…

“The music’s still playing,” he prodded her when she continued to remain unmoved, waving the wooden sword in her face, tempting her. “May I have this dance, my sweetling--”

“Don’t call me that--”

“We’re getting married,” he argued, the twitching in his groin increasing, thankfully, not yet to a noticeable extent. “You might as well get used to it, my dear--”

“If you keep calling me _‘your dear’_ and _‘your sweetling’,_ I might decide against this alliance right here and now.” Her cheeks were decorated with little patches of red, but far from anger, those soft blue eyes bore.

_She likes me. Maybe, she even desires me._

“Does this mean you’re in favour of it?”

She rolled her eyes and pushed away the sword he was dangling in front of her. “I’m not falling for your challenge.”

“What’s the matter? Worried you might be the one to lick the dirt this time?” 

She scoffed. “You wish it were so. I beat you the last time--”

“Only because I was handcuffed,” he argued in his defence, although, deep down, he was of the opinion that given a chance, even with his hands free, she might have had him pinned down and yielding to her. “We can try again--”

“Not interested.” She got up abruptly and made for the stairs leading out of there. “And I’m leaving, Ser Jaime--”

“Why the hell are you in such a hurry?” He doubled his strides to catch up with her. “Stay,” he stopped her, restraining her with his hand around her wrist. “Watch me train with Bronn.”

“Speaking of your friend--” she craned her neck to scan up the stairs “--shouldn’t he have been here long back?”

“Probably held up by something.” Jaime found himself wishing his _tutor_ would delay his arrival further, or better still, not turn up at all. He could do with spending some more time alone with Brienne. “We could have a little chat in the meantime,” he suggested hopefully, blocking her escape.

Brienne searched his face, eyes sparked with suspicion. “About what?” 

“You. I would love to know more about you, my lady.” He had made a pathetic attempt once before, and given his inquiry then had been under very different circumstances, his questions were met with revulsion and silence. “Tell me about your--” _father, brothers and sisters,_ he meant to ask, but instead, what came out was an extremely intimate and inappropriate, “your first kiss.”

She pushed him away and dashed up the stairs. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

The disappointment and dejection in her tone reminded him that she might not have experienced the pleasure of a kiss, and guilty that he had upset her, he chased her upstairs. “You must surely have fantasized about it.”

She lowered her eyes, then looked up at him again. “I don’t indulge in such fantasies, Ser Jaime--”

“You’re lying.” He had seen the affection for Renly in her eyes. He had read, clearly, her feelings for him, of how badly she’d wished to be accepted by him, to be loved and touched and cared-for. “Every maiden dreams of a perfect first kiss--”

“I’m not _every maiden_.”

Still hurt, she stepped away, but too quick for her, he wrapped his stump-arm around her waist and drew her into his arms. “You’re lying.” His voice was lower, hoarser, this time, not accusing, just observant, curious and keen to indulge in--in whatever this was heading towards. “A first kiss has to be special, wench,” he whispered, his hand gliding up her neck, fingertips, ghosting, pausing every now and then to stay back and give her a taste of his touch, to feel the goosebumps on her skin. “Something a woman would remember all her life--”

“Not interested,” she said, voice squeaky and breathless, blue eyes buried in his.

“Of course, you are.” Pushing his chest against her breasts, he tilted his face towards hers. “You want to know what it feels like to be a woman.”

“N--not interested,” she stammered again, her tits getting harder, her breathing getting quicker with every inch his fingers traveled.

“What do you feel when I do this--” he let the flat of his thumb caress her lower lip, gently parting it from its companion.

“Nothing,” she whispered, so softly that he could barely hear her.

He pulled her closer, and she gasped, one hand grabbing the front of his shirt, the other, teasing his collarbone and driving him mad.

“Do you feel your blood singing, wench? Pounding in your veins--” he could feel his own pulse rise and his cock throb when his fingers kissed the sensitive skin below her ear “--every nerve ending tingling when I touch you like this--”

“Nothing.” Her grip on his shirt tightening, her pupils darkened. He could see them reflect his want, he could feel her body burn in his fire. “I feel nothing--”

“What if I do this, hmm?” He edged his lips to hers, touching, yet, not touching her, teasing and delaying, dying to devour her, yet, wanting to prolong this divine moment. 

“Ser-- Ser Jaime--” He could feel his tension within her, her heart racing as fast as his, her silent screams urging him to get on with it and get into it. 

“Not _Ser_.” She trembled when his lips moved in speech, she twitched when he pressed his golden hand to her waist. “Just Jaime.”

“Ser-- I mean, I--”

Her eyelids fluttered shut when he let his breath wash over her face, breathing in her air, in return. “And what if I actually kissed you now--” he hovered over her mouth, aroused, eager “like this--”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, will you cut the shit and just do it, Lannister?” remarked an exasperated voice.

They sprang apart, Brienne, too embarrassed to face the new arrival, Jaime, hurling at him in his mind, the choicest curses he could come up with.

Bronn approached them with a knowing smirk. “If you had cut down half of that foreplay, you would’ve had her under you and screaming your name by now--”

“I will not have you talking about her like that,” Jaime retorted, noticing the wench’s discomfort “She’s a lady--”

“--and soon to be your wife,” Bronn quipped, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Fucking your wife is what you normally do--”

“Enough with this nonsense,” Jaime barked, and tossing a training weapon to him, he went back down to their usual spot. “It would be nice if we talk less and focus on swordplay for a while.”

But as soon as they had begun, Jaime was left panting and sweating and regretting his suggestion to train this morning. Being tossed to the ground repeatedly was not a pleasant thing to deal with, and distracted, as he was, with his head full of the kiss that might have been had they not been so rudely interrupted, he found himself at the wrong end of the blade and getting a mouthful of dust more often than usual.

So out of his usual rhythm he was, that when their hour was up and it was time to return to the Keep, he sighed with relief.

“So when is the wedding?” Bronn asked on their way back, the annoying smirk returning to haunt them.

“Preparations are to be done,” Jaime began, optimistic. “Arrangements to be--”

“I have not agreed to this marriage yet,” Brienne chimed in with her usual objection. “So we might as well--”

“You’re going to, soon, my lady,” Bronn cut her, mincing no words nor toning down the suggestive grin he attacked her with. “You want him as much as he aches for you, Lady Brienne, and--”

“That’s enough, Bronn.” 

Flattered and encouraged, though he was, with the sellsword’s detailed examination of her emotions and what was on her mind, Jaime couldn’t have him talking to her like that. Despite the common perception about her, Brienne was a lady, a noblewoman, and he would go to any lengths to make sure every man here treated her like one. 

Not at all perturbed by his admonishment, Bronn merely shrugged. No one spoke after that and all was well and peaceful until Jaime accompanied Brienne to her chambers.

“About everything Bronn said,” he began, when they were at her doorstep, “don’t take all that to heart. He’s brash and blunt and that’s how he speaks--”

“You forget that I’m used to it.” She looked like she had floated away to her past, a trouble childhood and youth. “You don’t have to worry. I’m not one of your usual ladies.”

“And--” he felt a flush creep up his neck “--about what happened between us--” he searched to pick the best words he could manage “--if I--”

She made a sudden movement towards him, and before he could finish his explanation, she leaned closer and brushed her lips to his cheek. “Good day, _Jaime_ ,” she mouthed against his skin, then pulled away, her eyes, soft and bright, her face a flaming shade of crimson. “I hope to see you at supper tonight.”

**Author's Note:**

> Don't worry, the actual first kiss will come ;)  
> I have two more parts to this series planned after this one.  
> Thank you for reading :)


End file.
